


Creature Comforts

by heliocentricity



Series: O Captain! My Captain! [2]
Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Post-Canon, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 07:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentricity/pseuds/heliocentricity
Summary: A snapshot of what life onboard Walton's ship is like about a month after the creature (AKA Milton) joins them.  The sailors have fun around a (nonexistent) campfire, and Robert and Milton have some soft moments.
Relationships: Robert Walton/Frankenstein's Creature
Series: O Captain! My Captain! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473383
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Creature Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest content warning for this piece is a brief mention of suicide. Milton's a sad boy, but I try to include enough softness to balance that out.

It was a tranquil night, and swathes of stars shone above the south-bound ship, as piercingly cold as thin chips of ice. The Moon was waxing and nearly full, its soft light reflecting on the surrounding water so that the entire world seemed to glow a faint silver. The effect was breathtaking, and it infused a strange sense of calmness upon the scene, brushing smooth the waves that had lapped so fiercely against the hull mere hours before and quieting the wind to nothing more than a soothing whisper. 

This gentle weather had a remarkable effect upon the sailors. For several moments, they stared in wonder at the peaceful landscape before returning their attention hastily to the cluttered ship, as though the cramped vessel suited them much more than the endless night. While the ship was rustic and homey, the heavens were cold and distant, stirring within the sailors an acute feeling of loneliness and reminding them of how small they were next to the majestic titan of nature. For a group of men who had just turned their backs on an expedition of scientific discovery, the reminder of all the work they were neglecting was especially disquieting. 

That single night's beauty might have laid some people low for days on end, but the sailors, more outgoing and extroverted them most, quickly found a solution to their sorrows: They turned their eyes away from the vast expanse of sky and sea and got lost in the gap-toothed smiles and twinkling eyes of their comrades. 

Within minutes, well over a dozen sailors had gathered on the main deck, pulling out packs of playing cards and swapping stories with people they had never spoken to until today. It was as though a thaw had begun at last, melting the thick banks of snow that had separated the sailors from one another ever since they had rebelled against their captain and demanded the ship be turned around, back in the direction of civilization and assured survival. Some spirits were passed around, and a couple small groups sang broken sea shanties.

Nobody questioned these proceedings or spoke to one another about the eerily calm weather. Only Milton, tucked away into a shadowy corner of the upper deck, marveled over the sudden change in demeanor of the sailors, though he kept these thoughts to himself. He had spent so many months alone in the Arctic that the lofty beauty of the constellations no longer filled him with a creeping sense of dread. If anything, it was a feeling he had grown so used to, it had essentially become a part of him, indistinguishable from any of his other personality traits. So it was that he felt nothing different that night, except maybe a gratitude toward the brightening Moon, by which he might read at night without having to waste the ship's precious store of candles. 

For almost an hour, Milton watched the sailors laughing with one another, exchanging drinks and pressing shoulders affectionately. The sight made his heart ache in a painfully familiar way. His mind drifted, and he imagined he could see the ghosts of the De Lacey family, blurring his vision and overlapping with the sailors before him: two families he felt he knew but could never be known by. It had become his habit to observe people from afar, even though it saddened him to feel so apart from everything. He no longer let himself imagine being an ordinary person, or if he did, he was quick to curb his fantasies. Instead, he justified his observations by thinking of it as research. If he understood more about how humans thought and behaved, then perhaps he could master the art of avoiding them and their ill tempers. He pushed down the thought that if circumstances were different, he wouldn't have to avoid them at all. 

Unfortunately, the reality was Milton not only looked like a monster but had become one over the past two years. If the De Lacey family had scorned him for his appearance alone, then these sailors would scorn him for his deeds, too, if only they were aware of them. Milton knew he was far past the point of sympathy, and he could no longer claim that he hadn't done anyone intentional harm. With his creator dead, and so many members of his family long since buried, Milton knew his actions were irrevocable and a permanent stain not just on his own conscience but on the lives of all who had cared about his victims and now had to live with their loss. 

Even the captain, Robert Walton, had reason to despise Milton, although he never let it show. Milton was thankful that things remained civil between them, even warm, but he was constantly worried that it was all an act, that maybe some larger revenge scheme was at play. Perhaps, for instance, there were plans to officially condemn Milton once they reached the mainland. It would be fitting, Milton thought, if he were finally convicted for the murder of William Frankenstein and if the innocent Justine Moritz were posthumously exonerated. It would be but a slight consolation to their memories, but at least it would be something.

In a way, then, Milton almost hoped he was sailing towards his doom. He had planned to kill himself once before, alone in the Arctic after Victor died, but Robert had urged him not to. Milton still believed that it was only right that he should die, but he reasoned there was no harm in letting the captain determine when and how. After all, Milton thought very highly of Robert, and if Milton's death made him happy, then at least something good would come of it.

Suddenly, Milton heard his name being called, and he snapped back to the present moment. The misty figures of the De Lacey family, which he had been watching in wonder for what felt like a lifetime, evaporated instantly into the moonbeams. Looking up, he recognized Sebastian Jones, a gregarious fellow who often bragged about having been the first person on the ship to meet Milton, besides the captain. Sebastian was nothing but kind to him, but this generosity stirred in Milton only feelings of guilt. Often, he was tempted to tell Sebastian all the horrible things he had done, just so he could be given the treatment he knew he deserved. But something always stopped him before he could get the words out, and Milton suspected he was too selfish to give up the joyful acquaintance. 

Currently, Sebastian was waving Milton out of the shadows where he had been lurking and, with a grin, was telling him, “Don't be a stranger. Come have a seat!”

He was referring to a makeshift circle that had formed on the deck, where most of the sailors had gathered. Milton had gotten a little distracted from watching them and didn't know exactly what they were doing now, but whatever it was, they looked as though they were having more fun than they had in ages. Sebastian patted an empty space beside him and gestured enthusiastically for Milton to join them. 

Anxiety making him reluctant, Milton crossed the deck carefully and sat down, hyper-aware of how he towered over the other sailors, no matter how small he tried to make himself. Even the second tallest of the group, who stood at roughly six-and-a-half feet, looked like a child in comparison.

Much to Milton's surprise, his bulk had actually helped him gain favor with the sailors. They all seemed impressed by him, even though he hadn’t done anything to earn their admiration. It was as though they were simply pleased to know they had someone as intimidating as him around. Some even went so far as trying to curry favor with Milton, as though that might make him more willing to back them up if they wanted support. It was all very odd, and Milton was beginning to think sailors were not like most humans. At first, he had believed Robert was the single exception, a person who wasn't outwardly and immediately cruel to him and who never shunned him for his appearance. But perhaps it required a certain temperament to thrive on an Arctic-bound ship, and that disposition made the people here more accommodating to him than most.

Now an uneasy part of the circle, Milton tensed as Sebastian poked him with an elbow to the ribs. “We were just in the middle of some sailing songs,” he told him. “Are you familiar with any of them?”

Milton shook his head, though he had been observing the sailors long enough that he might have answered differently with some degree of truth. He expected Sebastian to be disappointed or to send him away, but he simply nodded sagely and continued speaking.

“Alright, well, the first one goes like this. . . ” 

A little off-key, Sebastian started to sing a nonsensical song about women, wine, and the driving rain. Milton didn't quite understand the story - if there was one - and about half a dozen words in it threw him for a loop. They were not the sort of words the De Lacey family had ever spoken, and most likely, they were of a dialect Milton had never encountered in a book before. They had more feeling in them, which more than made up for their lack of an official definition. 

Sebastian finished singing a minute or so later, then explained, “There are a couple more verses that follow which play around with the lyrics, but the same tune repeats throughout the entire song. So once you've got the first one down, you should be good. The next part goes like this. . . ”

Halfway through this verse, a sailor burst out from below-decks, panting. 

“I’ve got it!” he shouted, brandishing a dusty guitar.

Several of the other sailors murmured appreciatively, but the tallest besides Milton asked gruffly, “Since when do you know how to play guitar?” His voice was equal parts amused and accusing.

The winded sailor blushed and admitted, “Well, actually, I don’t. I never learned how to play any instruments. But – ”

He was interrupted by a third person, who jeered, “Then why’d you bring it on board in the first place?”

“But!” he continued, blushing. “I figured, there must be someone here who knows how to play. Right?” He looked around the circle of men inquisitively. No one spoke up.

Then, a voice behind him said, “I know how to play.”

The sailors whispered excitedly as their captain stepped forward and held out his hand. The guitar was deferentially passed to him, and he crossed the circle to where Milton was sitting. The men readjusted so there was room for him, and he sat down cross-legged, nudging Milton gently with his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” echoed Milton. It was the first time he had spoken in hours, and he worried his voice sounded more intimidating when it was so gruff with disuse. Luckily, Robert didn't seem to mind, and Milton felt more at ease now that the captain had joined them. 

Although the other sailors seemed to act less natural around Robert, no doubt determined to maintain a good rapport with their captain despite their mutiny several weeks ago, Robert was the closest thing Milton had to a friend. No one alive knew more about Milton's past, and probably no one else would be so kind to him despite it. It was only around Robert that Milton felt he could truly be himself. In fact, the captain made him want to be more than himself, made him want to turn over a new leaf completely. Most of the time, Milton felt he was undeserving of such a second chance, but being around Robert infused him with the smallest sliver of hope. 

After the initial rush of joy at seeing Robert faded into the background, Milton grew fascinated with the instrument he was holding. The only other one he was familiar with had belonged to the De Lacey family, and though it hadn't been a guitar, it had taught Milton that instruments and the human voice were often played together, for wonderful results. Admittedly, Agatha De Lacey had a much prettier singing voice than any of the sailors here. But then, the sailors had a certain gusto which Agatha lacked, and Milton was captivated all the same.

Robert tested the guitar strings and said, “It’s a little off-tune. Just give me a minute.”

Milton watched, transfixed, as Robert ran his finger across the strings and began fiddling with some knobs at the other end. He bent his ear to the guitar and hummed under his breath as he worked. Whenever the string started to sound like his own unsteady note, he seemed satisfied and moved on the next. Pretty soon, he played all six strings in succession and smiled at how they melted together like honey into tea.

“I’m ready when you are,” he told his crew. “What songs are we singing tonight?”

Sebastian grinned and told Robert about the song he was just teaching Milton.

“I think I know that one,” agreed Robert. “Get started whenever, and I’ll figure out the strumming as I go.”

After a moment's hesitation, Sebastian began singing, and the other sailors joined him. It seemed they had drunk enough alcohol by that point to forgive the fact that Robert was their superior officer. For that night only, he became simply their guitarist. With that transformation, the jovial atmosphere soon returned. Milton was thankful, because it took the spotlight off of himself and allowed him to become a passive observer once again. 

Robert played, a little clumsily at first, but with increasing confidence. The guitar added an element of magic to the lyrics that Milton hadn’t recognized before, and he tried not to focus all of his attention on Robert. However, it was hard to tear his gaze away. Robert's eyes closed peacefully as he played, but his eyebrows remained furrowed in concentration, and every so often he would peer through one eye to make sure his fingers were in the right position. He smiled softly to himself whenever he played a difficult chord correctly, and he bit his lower lip when he messed up. Luckily, none of the sailors seemed to care if the guitar was played properly, so long as they had some sort of musical accompaniment. Since he figured no one was paying attention to him anymore, Milton let himself drink in the image of Robert in the frosty moonlight, and all the other sailors faded to mere background noise.

Milton thought of how lucky he was to know someone as gentle as the captain and how fortunate it was that fate had brought them together. If Milton could erase his own past up until this point, he would in a heartbeat, and if Robert could have been the scientist to bring him to life instead of Victor, then so much the better. He might have deserved Robert's friendship once, back before he had purposefully caused harm to the Frankensteins, so much harm that it had rent the entire family apart. But as it was, he felt awed that such a person would condescend to treat him with kindness, and he felt a timid devotion he had never felt towards anyone, not even towards the De Lacey family.

A sharp pressure in his side made Milton jump, and he looked down to see Sebastian, just as the sailor barked up at him, “Hey!” Milton's face heated up, and he grew anxious again, expecting to be chastised for staring too openly and adoringly at Robert. However, Sebastian merely told him, “You should be singing, too. This is a team effort, after all!”

A clash of emotions made Milton feel a little sick to his stomach. He appreciated Sebastian including him as part of the team, but he had never tried singing before and was, in all likelihood, horrible at it. Did he really want everyone here to know that about him, to open himself up to being made fun of for it? He could already imagine the things they would say about him behind his back, how he not only looked like a devil but sounded like one, too. He considered fabricating an excuse and returning to the lower decks, where he could camp out until the gathering had dispersed. Watching Robert play the guitar was wonderful, but it wasn't worth the public humiliation. Besides, he could always get up the nerve and ask Robert to play for him some other time. He had never denied Milton anything before.

Then, Milton felt the reassuring weight of Robert’s hand on his arm, and it was as though a shaft of sunlight had appeared to melt away his anxieties like morning dew. He looked down at Robert curiously. 

“You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Robert assured him. “But I think you should give it a try. You have such a beautiful speaking voice, and that could carry over into songs very well.”

Milton’s breath stuck in his throat and prevented further speech, so he only nodded in response to Robert's request, though he doubted its veracity. He was still nervous, but the thought of pleasing the captain gave him sufficient motivation to try at the very least. He would start quietly, he thought, and then no one would notice if he sounded terrible but himself.

So, Milton leaned into the circle a little and focused on the music. He quickly caught along to the melody and memorized the words, and, when the song started over again, he joined the chorus of men. He didn’t think he sounded terrible, so he sang a little louder, and then a little louder, until he noticed some of the sailors glancing over at him and nodding appreciatively. The sailor who had brought out the guitar even gave him a thumbs up. Milton felt a swell of pride in his chest, and he glanced down at Robert to see his friend blinking up at him in wonder. Robert blushed and looked away when his eyes met Milton’s, which surprised Milton so much, he nearly lost his place in the song.

Suddenly, Sebastian called for silence. “Okay, folks,” he shouted. “Let’s try it in a round now!” He divided the circle into fourths and explained when each group would come in. Then he said, “My side will start.” He cleared his throat and began singing, and Milton joined in, because he was part of the first group. When the second group joined in, Milton tripped over his words in surprise at how well the melodies fit together like a puzzle. It took him a moment, but he listened to Sebastian and started up again.

Then the third group joined in, and then the fourth, and then Milton’s own group finished the song. As he listened to the song ripple around the circle and the last of the airs vanish, Milton was quite nearly moved to tears. It wasn’t that they sounded so beautiful. No, that certainly wasn’t true. But there was something so uplifting about being part of a group – a team, as Sebastian had put it earlier – and the camaraderie amongst the sailors resonated in Milton’s very core. He was part of something that was bringing people joy, however minute, and the feeling was exhilarating. For the first time since Victor died, and maybe for the first time since the De Lacey family had rejected him, Milton felt he had a purpose in the world. He lifted up a hand to wipe away his tears before the others could notice.

Milton couldn't gauge how much longer they stayed on the main deck, singing and listening to Robert play the guitar. But eventually, the men grew tired and started to leave, one by one. Robert was the very last to go, no doubt playing his role as captain by ensuring that everyone made it to the lower decks safely. Milton waited for Robert and helped him clean up some of the mess left behind by the sailors. After all, the two shared a room, thanks to Robert's generosity. The only empty space on the ship had been used to hold Victor's body, and they both seemed to agree without speaking that Milton would rather sleep anywhere but there. Thus, a large portion of Robert's floor was spread with a blanket and single pillow, and Milton was able to sleep there every night, whenever he didn't fall asleep in odd places such as the food cellar or the furnace room. He preferred to wait until Robert was asleep before he crept in, and he liked to be up and gone before Robert, too. Milton had an odd anxiety about people seeing him sleep. It was much too intimate, and he would never ask anyone to trust him like that. Besides, not even he knew what he looked like asleep, and part of him feared he resembled a corpse even more with his eyes closed and his body motionless.

Both Milton and the captain remained silent as they worked, the only sound the rhythmic plashing of waves against the ship's hull. Not even the wind bothered them tonight, and the starry sky stretched above them peacefully like an elaborate tapestry. As Milton gazed up at the dazzling pattern, he remembered a book of astronomy that he had found in Robert's room a few weeks ago. He had read it cover-to-cover in less than a day and had continued studying it for another three. Now, he was confident he could name any constellation if prompted and even tell the corresponding myth.

He considered telling Robert about the book now, maybe by pointing out his own favorite constellation. But surely, Robert was already familiar with all that, seeing as it was his book in the first place. So, Milton refrained from speaking, internally debating with himself as though his entire future depended on when he spoke and what he said. However, before he could reach a definite conclusion as to the proper course of action, Robert surprised him by speaking up first. 

"You sang beautifully tonight," he began, while fastening some ropes on the sail. He chanced a look back at Milton and smiled. "I thought you would have a great singing voice, and it seems I was right. With enough practice, I bet you could even become a professional singer." 

Milton tugged at his hair self-consciously, readjusting it so that it covered more of his face, and murmured a bashful thank you. He knew Robert was flattering him about singing as a profession. Even if he thought his voice was good, they both knew Milton could never put himself in front of people like that. Besides, he wouldn't want to. Large crowds of people always set him on edge. Still, a compliment was a compliment. Milton was torn between letting himself be deceived by Robert's kind words or fretting over what his ulterior motive could possibly be. Why else would Robert be trying to build up Milton's confidence, if this wasn't all part of some elaborate joke?

Milton frowned at the thought and reminded himself, "Sometimes, people are just nice." 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" 

Milton froze, and so did the blood in his veins. Had he actually said that out loud? He twisted nervously at the frayed hem of his sleeve and considered lying. In the end, he decided against it and said, after a moment's hesitation, "I was just reminding myself that people can be kind sometimes. I mean, for no particular reason and with no ulterior motives." He stared resolutely at the ground, determined to look preoccupied even though all his attention was focused on the captain and his response.

"Well, of course they can," agreed Robert cheerfully. "And so can you. I meant what I said about it never being too late for someone to change for the better. I firmly believe in that."

Milton mumbled a few words of thanks that trailed off like comet dust. Then, he added nervously, "Of course, you're right that I should be kind, just because I can - and I will be. . . kind, that is." He shook his head, afraid this was going all wrong. Unwilling to turn back now, he pressed on. "But, when I said that to myself just now, I wasn't thinking about me. I was thinking about how you and the others behaved tonight, and. . . I want to thank you for all of that."

Robert tilted his head. "For all of what?" He sounded genuinely confused.

Milton made a loose shrugging motion, although he feared he was doing it wrong. He never knew what to do with his hands. This time, he just sort of raised them awkwardly, as though he were juggling particularly unwieldy pieces of fruit. "Inviting me into the circle, sitting next to me, asking me to sing songs with you. . . Practically everything."

Robert's face softened. "That's very sweet of you to say, Milton, but you don't have to thank us for showing you common decency. It's what you deserve."

Milton couldn't stop himself from asking, "Is it, though?"

"Yes," said Robert firmly. "It is. Look. . . " He sighed, then continued, "You could spend the rest of your life denying yourself every small joy there is, but what good would that do anyone? If you're truly dedicated to becoming a changed man, then you have to let yourself accept kindness, from others as well as from yourself."

"But it all feels so wrong," Milton protested. "I don't deserve any of that." 

"Maybe you didn't five months ago," Robert conceded, and Milton knew he was referring to luring Victor into the Arctic. "And maybe you still don't now. I don't know who can say for certain. But someday, if you continue to work hard at it, then you will be deserving of all the kindness in the world. And in the meantime, you should embrace the way people here are treating you. They've taken to you even more than I initially hoped for." He looked somewhat wistfully into the distance. "I wish I could get along with them as well as you do. The way they avoid me at every turn, I imagine they must not like me very much."

Milton was shocked that someone as wonderful as Robert could be so insecure as to imagine that they were unpopular among friends. Milton had always assumed his own fears about other people hating him were specific to his unique physiognomy. Could such a feeling be shared among humans, too? If so, then what a miserable frame of mind to fall into! Milton felt the need to dissuade the captain from this unhealthy thoughts, so he insisted, "I can't imagine how anyone could dislike you. If they treat you coldly, it must be their way of showing respect to you as the captain.."

Robert rubbed at the back of his neck with one gloved hand and murmured, "Maybe so. . . "

Neither of them said anything for another minute or two. The wind began to pick up, and though the extra bite of cold didn't bother Milton, the captain began shivering. Milton noted this with concern and remarked, "It's very late, and I think the temperature's dropping."

Robert nodded, finishing up his work and pausing to brush down his coat. "You're right, it is." One heartbeat passed. "I should probably head below-decks now. Then a second. "Will you join me?" He smiled hopefully, and the stars seemed to dim in comparison to his radiance. 

There was an unsteady moment in time when even Milton had no idea what he would say next. But then he heard the echo of Robert's voice telling him to accept kindness when it was offered to him, and in a sudden burst of clarity and spontaneity, he nodded and said, for the first time, "Yes, I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was subconsciously inspired by Frankenstein: A New Musical, just because the creature's voice is drop-dead gorgeous. If you haven't listened to it already, I HIGHLY recommend it. It has added ten years to my life. Anyway, thanks for reading, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts~!


End file.
